


Knight’s Tally

by dlyt



Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Cold Case - Freeform, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23739028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dlyt/pseuds/dlyt
Summary: A new case brings closure to a cold case.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 10
Collections: 2020 FKFicFest





	Knight’s Tally

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brightknightie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightknightie/gifts).



> This responds to the prompt: Cold Case 
> 
> Acknowledgments: Thanks to my youngest son for identifying plot holes and offering unique fixes for them. Thanks also to BrightKnightie for continuing to run the FKFicFest, even during a pandemic! 
> 
> Disclaimer: The Forever Knight characters in this story do not belong to me. I am borrowing them for fanfiction purposes only. No profit is being made. This is solely for fun!

“It looks like a robbery gone bad.” Detective Schanke stepped away from the small screen in the security office where he had been reviewing surprisingly good footage of the night’s violent death. A man ran from the store and turned back toward a pursuing security guard. For a moment, he looked almost directly at the security camera. There was the flash of a gunshot, and the guard collapsed. The shooter ran off across the parking lot.

“Can you make us a copy of this,” he continued, “and get me a diagram of the layout of the security cameras’ coverage, both inside and outside the store?” The store manager nodded, reaching for a blank tape to begin the process. Schanke handed him his card. “Give me a call when you’re done, and I’ll pick it up.”

Schanke stepped out into the main body of the department store, looking around for his partner, Detective Nick Knight, in the controlled chaos of the crime scene. He spotted him talking with an exhausted-looking young man, a teenager, really, wearing a name-tag with the store logo on it. They stood by the door to the manager’s office, behind the group of cashier stations.

“All I know,” the tired young voice whined, “is that I started work at 7 tonight, and this guy came in right before closing. I saw him pull a gun on Manny, you know: the cashier on duty. I rang the security buzzer and hid, just like the training says to do. Then I heard shouting by the main doors, and I thought it was pretty quick for the security guys to get there, and then there was a sound like a gunshot, maybe, and I just dove down behind the counter and stayed there until my manager came to get me. Can I go home, now? I’ve got school in the morning, and my sister’s gonna freak out ‘cause I’m not home yet.”

At just that moment, a young woman whose strikingly similar appearance to the young store clerk approached, accompanied by a uniformed officer. She could only be the sister. “Lance, what have you done, now?” she began with no preliminary, staring at her brother with undisguised disdain.

“I didn’t do anything,” the young clerk yelled back, suddenly energized by his sister’s accusation. “I was just here!”

Schanke moved forward smoothly, using his bulk to intercept the young woman before she got any closer to her brother and pinning the uniformed officer with an “Are you kidding me?” look. The officer shrugged and offered, “What was I supposed to do? He’s a minor, and she’s his guardian.”

Nick Knight, meanwhile, had reached out a restraining arm to stop Lance from bolting. He caught the eye of another uniform and called him over with a jerk of his head.

Suddenly, the young woman stumbled and fell to her knees heavily. She clutched her stomach tightly and her skin went grey. With practiced speed and remarkable agility, Lance grabbed the trash can beside him and shoved it in front of her. She reached for it and retched into it, causing the officers in the area to flinch back in response. Then she looked up at her brother and promptly collapsed, blood dribbling from the side of her mouth as her eyes glazed over.

**********

Dr. Natalie Lambert was waiting for them when Nick and Schanke swept into her office early the next night.

“Hiya, Nat! We got your message. And what do you have for Toronto’s finest detectives tonight? If you can help us solve this one, I might just have to kiss you! Myra’s been itching to go on vacation, and if we can get this case closed, my first stop is the Captain’s office with a leave form, signed in triplicate, and filed with all of the appropriate offices!”

Natalie and Nick both chuckled at Schanke’s enthusiasm. They’d heard little recently from him except his grousing about vacation time, and the truth was, he was overdue for it.

Nick sat on the edge of Natalie’s desk and smiled just for her. “Well, Nat, what’ll it be: vacation for Schank here, or a ‘dead end.’” He’d made a bad pun and knew it, but it served its purpose as Nat rolled her eyes and tossed a hand up in surrender.

“All right, all right, you two. Sheesh! It’s like you want me to solve all of your cases for you!” Natalie smiled broadly as she handed Nick a file from the top of her paper-strewn desk. “Just don’t say I never did anything for you!”

After a moment scanning the file, Nick looked up quizzically and passed it to Schanke. “What exactly are we looking at, Nat?”

Natalie stood and crossed to a countertop, also overladen with paper, and shuffled through the top few sheets as she answered, “What we have here, gentlemen, is the answer to not just one, but two cases. The markings on the bullet that killed your security guard, David Joshua Cousins, age twenty-three, link the gun to another homicide from just about two years ago. A local couple, man and wife, shot execution-style in their own back yard. It was presumed to be a robbery gone bad, as the house was ransacked. No suspects were ever identified.”

“Partner of mine,” Schanke said, “I have a sudden desire to pack my bags. A two-fer! All we have to do is identify the gunman, pick him up, lock him up, and throw away the key! Captain Cohen’s got to give me that vacation now! C’mon, Nick, let’s pick up that security tape and see if it can give us some good still photos of our shooter.”

“I’ll drop you back at the precinct, Shank.” Nick responded. “I’m going over to the hospital. I think Lance might have more to tell us.”

“Lance?” Natalie asked. “Who’s Lance?”

“Lance Blevins. The store clerk who sounded the alarm. His sister collapsed at the scene and we had to call an ambulance for her. I’m pretty sure she’ll still be there. She looked pretty bad. I’m betting Lance won’t be too far away.”

Natalie’s eyes had widened at this news, and she quickly took back the file from Schanke, ignoring his look of surprise. Both Nick and Schanke followed her back to her desk, where she spread the file open, found what she was looking for, and asked, “Is the sister named Anita, by any chance?”

“I don’t know,” Nick said. “I never caught her name.” He glanced at Schanke, who shook his head. He did not know, either. He turned back to Natalie and asked, “Why?”

“The cold case I told you about? The deceased couple were Anthony and Rose Blevins. Their son, Lance, was pretty badly injured, but survived. A daughter, Anita, was away at university at the time.” She folded the file and returned it to Schanke. “I think your ‘two-fer’ just got more interesting.”

Their mood suddenly sober, the two detectives turned and headed for the door. “Thanks, Nat!” Nick called back as they left.

******

Lance was sitting alone in the visitor’s lounge on the general surgical ward when Nick found him. A textbook sat open but ignored in his lap; it was likely a decoy to stop people from talking to him. When he saw Nick, he closed it but continued to fiddle with its edges, not sure what to do or how he should react.

“Hi, Lance,” Nick said, gently. “How’s your sister?” He sat down across from the young man.

Lance shrugged. Nick waited. He could hear the boy’s stomach gurgling, and he smiled to himself. “When’s the last time you ate something?” Another shrug. “C’mon, let’s go get you some dinner.” Lance made a show of reluctantly gathering up his things, but Nick had heard his heart rate pick up speed at the mention of food.

After a plate of pizza slices, a prepackaged salad, and soda in the hospital cafeteria, Lance began to relax. “Is that all you cops ever drink,” he asked Nick, eyeing the coffee in his untouched cup.

“When we’re on duty, yeah,” he replied, smiling and setting the cup aside.

“Lance, I need to know more about the robbery at the store. Did you recognize the guy?”

“No,” Lance responded quickly, focusing on the tabletop in front of him. Nick could hear the increased heart rate and decided some gentle “influence” might help them both.

“Look at me, Lance,” Nick prodded gently. When he had the young man’s attention, he reassured him. “I need you to tell me what you know. If you’re in trouble, we can protect you. But I can’t help you if you don’t help me. If you’re not worried about yourself, think about your sister.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Lance grew angry. “What the hell does my sister have to do with anything? Just because she showed up and interrupted your little crime scene interrogation, now you think everything’s _her_ fault?”

Surprised, Nick pushed on, compelling his cooperation now. “Well, if it’s not her fault, then whose fault is it?”

“It’s my fault, okay? It’s _always_ my fault! _Everything_ that’s ever gone wrong in the _whole world_ is my fault! It’s my fault that my sister’s sick. It’s my fault the store was robbed. It’s my fault that my parents are dead. Hell, it’s even my fault when the Maple Leafs lose!” For a moment, Lance’s battle among fear, anger, guilt, and resignation showed on his face, and Nick found himself searching for a way to ease the boy’s tension.

“So _that’s_ what’s been going on with the Leafs this year,” he said, lightly. “I’d been wondering about that.”

Lance laughed, but it was a sad sound in the nearly empty cafeteria. He relaxed slightly, the sudden outburst cathartic in a way. Nick understood the boy’s emotions only too well. He struggled with them daily himself. His mind drifted as memories of mass suffering and death, only a few years before, overwhelmed him.

_Haiti, August 1985_

_Even at night, the land sweltered, stinking in that unmistakable way that overpopulated third world slums stank. The heat meant nothing to Nick as he crept silently past the raised crypts in the graveyard in Cité Soleil. The smell, however, made him grateful for his limited need for breath._

_Kneeling by the wall, he listened to the sound of water tricking by in the drainage ditch beyond it. He concentrated his senses; no one else was nearby. Reaching into a crack at the base of the wall, he removed a broken part of the cinder block and groped the small cavity thus exposed._

_It was empty! Desperately, he searched the area, feeling with his hands and coming up empty. He crouched by the wall and deliberately drew a cautious breath. Yes, he could still smell the noxious contents of the bag he had hidden there the night before. No one, not even the voodoo priest who was trying to help him regain his mortality, could have known of his hiding place. Who could have robbed him?_

_A whoosh of displaced air alerted him to the arrival of another of his kind. “Hello, Nicholas,” came the familiar voice of his master, Lucien LaCroix. “Looking for something?”_

_Nick stood and challenged LaCroix angrily, eyes glowing and fangs fully extended. “Where is it? What have you done with it?”_

_In the next moment, Nick found himself slammed against the wall of a nearby mausoleum, feet dangling as he was suspended by LaCroix’s hand at this throat. “You fool! Did you really think that voodoo, of all things, would have the answer to your idiotic quest?”_

_Abruptly, Nick found himself battered to the ground, but he was far from vanquished. “What have you done, LaCroix? They were willing to help me!”_

_“Help you?” LaCroix laughed derisively before hauling Nick up once more and holding him against the wall. He brought his face close to Nick’s and let his own eyes change. Through newly descended fangs he hissed, “Even now they plan to use their ‘magic potions’ to bring you under their control. They threaten to take what is mine, and I will not allow it!” Stepping back, he knocked Nick to his knees once more and as he bent to strike him again, both were suddenly aware of a mortal presence._

_The sheer audacity of the attack took them both by surprise, as a painted figure dashed by them, blowing a fine dust and mist into their faces before disappearing into the labyrinth of tombs. Taking a reflexive breath, each inhaled the drugged mixture. LaCroix staggered and fell heavily, wavering on unsteady knees. Nick dropped like a stone, unconscious before his head hit the ground._

“Detective? Detective Knight?” Lance’s worried voice brought Nick back to the present. He sighed. Time to get back to work.

“Lance, we know there’s a connection between the robbery and what happened to your parents. I need to know, did you recognize the guy in the store the other night?”

It might have been some lingering effect of being mesmerized, or it might have been the recognition between souls in pain, but Lance decided to trust Nick with the truth. “Yeah, maybe. I’m not sure, though, and even if I was sure, I don’t think I’d want to tell you.”

“Look, if you’re afraid, we can protect you,” Nick began again.

Lance shook his head, “No, you don’t understand. No one would believe me. I’m just a screw-up, a stupid kid! And besides, I’m really not sure. It was a while ago, and I don’t really remember a lot of what happened. Something about trauma, and surgery, and anesthesia. I can’t remember everything.” Suddenly, his face lit up as he realized, “Wait, what do you mean you know there’s a connection? What connection? What do you know?”

“Why don’t you tell me about what happened to your parents? Even if you don’t remember everything, you might remember something that can help us.”

It took some time, more pizza, and more soda, but eventually Nick was able to make sense of Lance’s recollections. At thirteen, almost fourteen, Lance was a neighborhood troublemaker. As he put it himself, a “real wise-ass.” He was not necessarily a bully, but he really enjoyed screwing with people, just to watch their reactions. If he saw a neighbor’s car with the window down, he might tuck a raw egg into the fold of the driver’s seat, then be entertained by the driver’s reaction when they smashed the egg and got it all over their pants. Once, he took the next-door neighbor’s newspaper, unfolded it carefully, and removed just the cover page from every section, refolded it and returned it to the neighbor’s porch. He was entertained quite a bit by the neighbor’s loud complaining phone call to the newspaper, until his mother made him confess and return the missing pages. He’d been grounded for a month for that, and was made to mow his neighbor’s yard, too, but he didn’t mind that. It had been fun!

So, when he saw a guy at the local park stash an oddly shaded blue duffel bag in the bleachers and run off to join pickup soccer game, naturally he decided to hide it from him, just for kicks. When the guy came back and found his bag missing, he went nuts! Lance never had such a reaction to any of his pranks before! He decided to take the bag home, but to return it early the next day, then hang around and see if the guy would come back looking for it, and what his reaction would be then.

At last, the guy left, and Lance retrieved the bag and took it home. In his room, he opened it and discovered why the guy had made such a fuss; it was filled with cash, wrapped up in bands like you saw in the movies, and in the bottom, underneath it all, he found a gun. Suddenly, this prank wasn’t fun anymore. He hid the bag under his bed, more determined than ever to return it in the morning.

He never got the chance. Suddenly, the front door burst open, and that’s where his memory started to get fuzzy. He wasn’t sure if it was two, or three, men. He remembered his mom screaming and his dad yelling, and being dragged and kicked and then sometime later waking to the face of his neighbor, the one he’d played the newspaper prank on, urging him to hang on, that help was coming. But no amount of help could ever undo what he had done, and nothing could ever be all right again.

“I ruined everything,” Lance concluded. “My sister had to quit school to be my guardian. I ruined her life, and she hates me. I was in hospital a long time recovering from the attack. I missed out on most of a year of school, so I won’t graduate with my friends. I don’t go out or do anything anymore, but it doesn’t matter; she only seems to remember what I was like before. I got the job at the store as soon as I turned sixteen, just to try to prove I could do something right, but now even that has gone wrong. She had to have surgery today for a bleeding ulcer. The doctor says she’ll be fine, but she has to reduce the amount of stress in her life.” He laughed again, a scoffing sound. “I’m the stress in her life, so I guess she’ll just have to get rid of me. I’m just waiting to see how long it is before some social worker comes to collect me.”

“You know I have to ask one last time,” Nick pressed. “Did you recognize the gunman at the store?”

“Maybe. I think he might have been the guy with the duffel bag. The thing is, I’m not sure. I’ve seen him so many times in nightmares, but then he has great big arms, or his hair is on fire, or stuff like that, y’know? I can’t be sure that was him in real life.”

******

“Captain,” Schanke said as he knocked on the open office door, “I think we caught a break. A friend of mine over in vice recognized our perp from the security tape. Baltasar Onofre. He’s bad news. According to my friend, he used to be a runner for one of the street gangs. He’s got quite a list of priors. I need arrest warrants and search warrants for his vehicles, and his home, to search for the gun used in the shooting.”

“There shouldn’t be any problem getting them in this case. Go ahead and pick him up for questioning in the meantime, Schanke,” Captain Cohen responded. “I don’t need to tell you that this case is getting a lot of media attention. A security guard gunned down in front of a store is a brazen act. This guy is bold. He thinks no one can touch him.” She looked down at the paperwork Schanke had handed her. “Oh, and detective?” Schanke was already leaving, but he turned back as she continued, “Good work.” He nodded his appreciation for the rare compliment and headed back to his desk.

******

By the time Nick left the hospital, Lance’s neighbor, Jim Meyers, had come to retrieve him. Anita had arranged for Lance to stay with his family until she was released. It gave Nick hope to see that there were people in Lance’s life who cared for him, even if he was still too traumatized to realize it. He hoped that the relationship between Lance and his sister was not damaged beyond repair.

Driving back to the precinct, he tuned the radio to CERK, just in time to hear LaCroix’s voice as the Nightcrawler on his nightly broadcast.

“The city is seething tonight with the need for vengeance, the need to ‘get even,’ to pay back evil for evil. And isn’t that the natural way of man? To strike back against those who have hurt you. And the bystanders, the ‘innocent’ bystanders, what of them? Will your need for vengeance fuel theirs? What a glorious cycle! Those who hurt, strike out, and those they hurt, strike back.

“’But wait,’ you say, ‘what about forgiveness? Doesn’t the ‘Good Book’ tell us to forgive our brother seventy times seven times?’

“Well, I ask you, ‘Who is your brother?’ It’s all about family, isn’t it? And inside that family, however you define it, we are taught to ‘forgive and forget.’ How naïve. And yet, there is a certain logic to breaking the endless chain of revenge, for if the chain were never broken, and we each demanded the ancient justice, ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,’ how many of us would be left who could either see or eat our suppers?

“So, again I ask you, _mon frère,_ who is your brother? Am I? And are you mine? And if the offense is impossible to forget, can it ever be forgiven?

“Come to me with your stories of hurt, and vengeance, and forgiveness, if you have not yet forgotten, for I am the Nightcrawler, and you are my family, for I am brother to you all.”

******

“Good timing, partner,” Schanke enthused when Nick walked into the bull pen. “Don’t bother to sit down, we’ve got a suspect to find!”

Nick was surprised. “You’ve got a name already?”

“Yes, indeedy! And an address, and warrants! I’ve got backup standing by. Let’s go! I can almost smell a vacation coming on!”

They briefed each other on their progress in Nick’s car while en route. Schanke was deeply affected by Lance’s story.

“That poor kid. I mean, how do you recover from something like that, that kind of guilt? How does he ever move past it? I tell ya, Nick, I’m not sure how somebody can stay sane, knowing they’ve done that much damage to someone else’s life.”

Nick just looked over at him sadly. He knew all too well how it felt to live with that level of guilt. And that much anger and need for vengeance.

His reverie was interrupted by their arrival at address. They made contact with the backup team. One uniformed officer would back up each detective. By now it was quite late, and they expected their quarry to be at home, so they approached the duplex quietly.

“You take the front, Schank. I’ll…”

“…go around back. Yeah, I know. I’ll count to ten, partner, before I knock. Go!”

From the back of the house, Nick extended his senses, and heard nothing. It looked like there was no one home, after all. He circled back to the front door, leaving the officer to guard the back.

“Let’s go in,” Nick said as he pulled gloves from a pocket and put them on. They forced the front door open. The house was dark. A quick search confirmed no one was home. “Go ahead and call it in, Schanke,” Nick instructed. “We need the search team.”

As the search for the gun started, Schanke noticed a familiar-looking pullover on the floor of the bedroom. It matched the perp’s clothing from the security footage.

“Bingo!” Schanke said under his breath. “Hey, Nick! Look what we got here,” he called loudly, then jumped as Nick appeared silently beside him.

“Jeez! You really startled me,” he complained. Nick grinned.

“What did you find,” he asked, calmly.

“Take a look, partner,” Schanke said as he pointed to the pile of dirty clothes, “I think we found what he was wearing on the security video. This is definitely our guy, Nick. We need to find him, and we need to find that gun.”

“Let’s go, then. You do have some other leads on where this guy might be, don’t you?”

******

Returning empty-handed, Nick and Schanke were met by the returning search team.

“We found a gun, detectives,” a satisfied young uniformed officer announced. “Tommy’s just run it over to evidence. From there he’s taking it for prints and a firing test. Depending upon how busy they are tonight, we might know pretty quickly whether this is the gun you’ve been looking for.”

“Where did you find it,” Nick asked.

The officer pulled out her evidence chain of custody notes and read, “inside small blue duffel bag (tag number yada yada), under plain grey unisex sweatshirt, size XL (tag number yada yada), in bottom left far corner of the entryway closet.” She smiled as Schanke called out, “Bingo!” And did a short soft shoe routine across the bull pen.

******

_Nick woke from the drug-induced haze in Haiti, surrounded by death, bodies slashed and lifeless, his own body splashed with bloody streaks. LaCroix, looking simultaneously haggard and replete, his clothing ragged, his face and chest soaked with blood, knelt next to him._

_“Oh, good. You’re awake,” LaCroix intoned in a tired voice. He extended a hand to Nick, but Nick did not take it, rolling away instead, trying unsuccessfully to get away from the scent of blood._

_“Did I…” Nick found he could not finish the question._

_“No, Nicholas, you did not,” came the quiet reply. “They did try their best to force you, but you have a stubbornness,_ _mon fils, that I thought only I could inspire in you. You were quite … resistant … to their efforts to control you. I must admit I am proud of your efforts._

_“What happened?”_

_“Their foolish priest thought to make us into zombies, using the drugs they use on mortals for that purpose. He thought we would prove most effective against his enemies, but as you can see around us,” LaCroix gestured with a sweeping hand, “that was not the case. I’m afraid I left none alive to tell the tale._

_“It took a bit more effort to revive you. I had to resort to force-feeding you. The blood of the master always heals.” LaCroix pushed wearily to his feet, calling Nick to his side._

_“Come, let’s leave before someone finds this. It would be rather difficult to explain, don’t you agree?”_

“Nick? Are you awake? C’mon, partner, pick up the phone!” Nick jumped awake, and realized he had overslept. On the sofa. He rubbed the back of his neck as he reached for the receiver.

“Knight here.”

“Hey, Nick! The day shift brought in our suspect. He’s waiting for us at the precinct. Can you drop by and pick up the forensic report on the gun on your way in?” 

“No problem,” Nick said groggily, and yawned. “That’s good news, Schanke. I’ll be in shortly.” He hung up and turned to prepare for his shift.

******

“Hey, Nat,” Nick said with a small smile as he greeted her.

“Hey, yourself,” she called in response. “Are you here for the report on your shooter’s gun? I’ll save you the read and give you the summary: the markings match. This is the murder weapon.”

Nick nodded absently, absorbed in thought.

“Hey, you,” she said softly as she handed him the file. “Why do I get the impression this case is hitting a little close to home?”

He smiled sadly at her. She knew him pretty well. “It’s just something Schanke said last night,” he explained. “It reminded me how far I am from humanity. He cannot understand how someone lives with the guilt of being responsible for the deaths of two people. I live nightly with the knowledge that I’ve destroyed thousands of times that many lives. By his standards, I should not be sane.”

“Maybe you weren’t, when you first turned away from killing, Nick,” she replied. “But every time you say no, you get a little closer to your goal. You can’t let yourself get discouraged.”

He smiled a little at that, but then sobered as he asked her, “But what if it’s not just me that needs to be forgiven, Nat? What if it’s someone else, too? Someone who killed to save me, and added those lives to my account? How do I begin to do that?”

“I don’t have the answers, Nick,” she said as she took his hand in hers, “but I do know that there are a lot of us mere mortals dealing with the same kinds of questions. That should make a difference, shouldn’t it?”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks, Nat.”

She stepped away, headed for her desk and smiled back at him. “No charge! Now, git! Before Schanke calls out the Mounties to come looking for you!”

******

Schanke sat in the observation room, taking notes, while his partner conducted the interview. Onofre had asked for a lawyer, and his assigned counsel sat with him. Nick wasted no time on pleasantries.

“Mr. Baltasar Onofre, the Crown is charging you with the murder of David Joshua Cousins. Other charges will no doubt follow as our investigation progresses. You are also charged with the murders of Anthony and Rose Blevins, and the attempted murder of Lance Blevins.” Nick caught the suspect’s eyes, saw his surprise, and felt for the subtle point of mesmerizing control. He then asked the one question he allowed himself while exerting that control. “You are in a world of trouble, Mr. Onofre. This is your one opportunity to come clean. If you cooperate now, I will personally make sure the judge in your case knows that you helped us. Now tell me, Mr. Onofre, what else have you done?”

******

“Man-o-man-o-man! How do you _do_ that, Nicky-boy? Not even his lawyer could slow him down! You’d have thought he was in church, going to confession! Forget the two-fer! He told us about things he’d done that we hadn’t even _heard_ about! Where’s that leave form? I’m going to hit the captain up for leave right now, before this gets old!” Schanke rushed off, intent on his mission.

Natalie walked up to Nick. She delivered a folder and a _soto voce_ observation. “You know, Nick, you’re not going to be able to do that when you become mortal.”

He smiled back at her. “I know,” he said, “but it sure felt like I was doing it for a good reason today.”

She could not find it in herself to scold him further. He seemed so much more at peace with himself than he had been earlier.

Schanke appeared suddenly, flushed and excited. “Nick, do you have any blank leave forms?” He looked pleadingly toward the heavens, “My kingdom for a leave form!”

Nick smiled broadly. “I think I’ve got one or two, Schank. What’s it worth to you? Wanna do the case write up?”

“For you, for a form, but only for you, ol’ buddy ol’ pal!”

“Done! Here’s the form. I’m heading over to the hospital. Maybe I can catch Lance and tell him and his sister the good news.”

******

Nick was pleasantly surprised to find Lance and his neighbor both visiting with Anita in her room. He waited in the hallway for a moment, listening in on their conversation.

“Anita,” a rich baritone voice Nick recognized as Mr. Meyers scolded, “you heard the doctor. You must begin to learn to let these things go.”

“It’s hard,” replied a weak, clear alto, obviously Anita.

“The things worth doing in life are hard,” Mr. Meyers said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think it will be hard for both of you, but it is worthwhile to try.”

“Mr. Meyers says I can stay with them until you’re on your feet, and when we need a break. I think that will help, don’t you?” Lance’s young voice was pleading.

“Yeah, it might,” Anita replied. “Thanks, Mr. Meyers, for everything.”

Nick chose that moment to knock lightly on the door frame. “Hello. I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he began.

“No, no,” said Lance. “Come in. Anita, you didn’t get a chance to really meet Detective Knight the other day. Detective Knight, this is my sister, Anita. You already know Mr. Meyers.”

“Please, call me Nick. I was glad to hear that your surgery went well, Miss Blevins. I don’t want to take up much of your time, but I wanted to let you know that tonight we arrested the man responsible for the death of your parents. He confessed.”

Meyers immediately leaned down and hugged Anita gently. Lance was pulled in with an outflung arm. “Did you hear that, Anita? They finally caught the one who is truly responsible. That’s wonderful news, detective!”

“Please, it’s just Nick. I must tell you, Lance, that it would’ve been harder without your help. You’re a brave young man.” He reached out to shake hands.

“Ow, Nick! You’re freezing! You need another coffee!” Lance smiled, though, as he said it. Behind him on the bed, Anita’s eyes filled with tears.

“I’ve got to get going. Just wanted to deliver this news personally. I’ll be in touch.” And he left.

******

Alone in the loft, just before sunrise, Nick pulled a bottle from his fridge and poured a glass. After a moment, he pulled out a separate bottle and poured another. He turned and offered it to LaCroix, who had suddenly appeared behind him.

“Thank you, Nicholas,” said LaCroix, surprised. He took a whiff of his drink and nodded appreciatively. “At last, your manners as a host have improved.” He took a sip. “This is quite good. I approve.”

“A gift from Janette.”

“Ah, yes. She does have good taste.” He sent a meaningful glance Nick’s way, which he ignored.

“Why are you here, LaCroix?”

“I came to congratulate you. I heard that you scored quite a coup tonight. A multiple murderer brought to justice, I believe?”

“Yes. Was that all?”

LaCroix moved to the sofa and sat without invitation. He considered the drink in his hand and took another sip, savoring it. “I couldn’t help noticing that you’ve been rather … pensive … this week. Something is bothering you. Would you like to (he winced slightly) talk about it?”

Nick thought quickly. There were things he wanted to say, but he did not want to be trapped with LaCroix in the loft for the day, and sunrise was imminent.

“I realized this week that I never thanked you for saving me in Haiti,” he began. “I was more concerned with the number of mortals you killed in order to do it. I added their deaths to the tally for which I am responsible.”

LaCroix waited, impassively.

“I was so sure you had interfered yet again with my search for a cure, that I never considered an alternative. Why were you in Haiti, LaCroix?”

LaCroix swallowed the last of his drink, put the glass on the coffee table, and stood. “I accept your thanks, Nicholas. You are welcome. As for the tally you keep, you know my views. I will say this, though, and you may take it any way you like. When I kill mortals in order to protect what is mine, those deaths belong to me, and no one else.”

For just a moment, a fond smile rested on LaCroix’s face as he gazed at Nick. The next moment he was gone.

Nick sighed, partly with relief, but partly with longing. He had hoped to discover LaCroix’s true intent. He retrieved the empty glass and set it in the sink before drinking deeply from his own, then closed the shutters on the impending sunlight.

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone is curious about Haiti in 1985, it was about that time there was some limited serious study of the drugs used in Haitian voodoo to make zombies. A movie, “The Serpent and the Rainbow,” was made in 1988 based loosely on the non-fiction account of that research. It occurred to me that if Nick had heard about such a study, he would have looked into it as a possible source of a cure.


End file.
